


Salt and Vinegar

by tbazzsnow (Artescapri)



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bedtime, Boys In Love, Canon Universe, Fluff, Fluff and Romance, M/M, Post-Book 2: Wayward Son, Seductive Vampires, Soft Boys, Started as a crack fic but ended up being fluff and romance and seduction, a night at home, accepted the challenge to make this sexy, bedtime snacks, communicaton, salt and vinegar crisps, seducing a vampire, snacking in bed, they are in a good place, walkers salt and vinegar crisps, who is the snack really?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25316299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artescapri/pseuds/tbazzsnow
Summary: A night at home for Baz and Simon. Snacks and seduction. And a whole lot of love.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 41
Kudos: 197





	Salt and Vinegar

**Author's Note:**

> my thanks to [fight-surrender](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fight_Surrender/pseuds/Fight_Surrender) and [giishu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/giishu/profile) for the encouragement and beta reads (and nudge to make it even funnier) and [krisrix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisRix/pseuds/KrisRix) for being the impetus for this challenge and giving me the reassurance once he'd read it that I'd managed it.

**Salt and Vinegar**

**Simon**

I wash my face, brush my teeth and then go find Baz in his bedroom. He’s sitting up, leaning against the headboard, a book in his hands.

“I thought you were done for the night?”

His forehead creases and he gives me a small shrug. (He does that now.) (Shrug, I mean.) (Let’s me see the side of him that’s not always so self confident and cocky.) (I love it.) “I forgot I had this chapter to read for my morning class.”

“You sat through two episodes of The English Game and didn’t say a word.”

Baz shrugs again and wrinkles his nose in what can only be described as an apologetic grimace. It’s so bloody endearing I almost miss what he says next.

“I like that show.”

I shake my head and cross my arms, trying to look stern. “No entertainment when you’ve got revising to do, Pitch.”

One eyebrow goes up and his lips curve into smirk. “Does that mean you’re off limits too?”

I don’t bloody well think so. “I can keep you company while you read.”

The smirk widens. “Without any _entertainment_?” The tosser emphasizes the word in a way that makes heat flare in my belly.

That’s for later. Right now I need him to get this damn chapter read. “Do your work, Baz. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I head to the kitchen. If Baz is going to read for a bit, I may as well get a snack.

I don’t spend the night at Baz’s that often, but Fiona’s on an extended trip to the Continent right now so we can actually be alone here.

I mean, we can be alone at my place too, but Penny’s room is right there and things have been . . .

Well, things have been a damn sight better for me and Baz these last few months.

I’m in therapy. He is too.

Words are still hard sometimes, but we’re trying. We’ve said the important ones and that’s made a difference.

It’s comfortable.

That sounds stupid when I say it. I should say romantic or passionate or absolutely fucking glorious. It’s all those things. Every one of them and more.

But I think _comfortable_ is more meaningful in our case. It took time to trust each other and even longer to trust ourselves.

To trust ourselves with each other.

It was passionate and romantic in a doomed fairy tale way, when we first got together. It’s still that. (The passionate and romantic parts.) (Not the doomed fairy tale bit.) But I’m not going to turn my nose up at contentment. That’s what makes me know it’s real. That I can have this. That it’s safe and stable and it’s not going to disappear the moment I turn my head away.

Christ, look at me. I’ve turned into a bloody sap; that’s the upshot of dating Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, the biggest fucking sap I’ve ever met. Fuck, I love him.

But finding something in his cupboards is a nightmare.

It takes some effort to locate a bag of crisps. Baz and Fiona have the irritating habit of hiding food from each other, like fucking hoarders the two of them; as if they can’t afford to buy more crisps, for Merlin’s sake. They practically come to blows over crisps and chocolate on a regular basis. Don’t even get me started on the biscuit wars.

The Walkers are tucked behind a large sack of rice at the far end of the left hand cupboard, on the very top shelf. Meaning Baz hid them there, the leggy bastard.

Three bags of them. I think about it for a minute, but then grab just one.

Baz is outraged as soon as he catches sight of me walking into his bedroom with the bag.

“You are not eating crisps in my bed, Simon.” I can’t help but smile at his words, even though he’s frowning at me.

A year ago he would have called me _Snow_ in almost every instance. Six months ago he would have said it when he was irritated, like he is now.

But Baz knows how much I like it when he uses my given name. How intimate it is, after all those years of him calling me Snow. He’s told me he’d sometimes call me _Simon_ in his head, when he was having soft thoughts, even back at Watford.

So I know there’s love every time he says it and I like that. I like that a lot.

There may be love in every syllable of it but Baz is still glaring at me as I drop down on the bed next to him. “I’ll be careful.”

He snorts. “I’ve seen you eat, Simon.” He regards the bag of salt and vinegar crisps in my hand as if it has personally affronted him. Perhaps it has. “I don’t want crumbs in my bed.”

“You can spell them away when I’m done.” That brings me an eye roll but Baz scoots over to make room for me.

I cuddle up next to him, my head resting on his shoulder, tail wrapped around his thigh. “Go on then, get your reading done, you swot.”

He picks up his book with a deep sigh. Dramatic prat.

I try to be quiet and careful as I open the bag, but the seam is so tightly sealed so it takes me a minute to rip it apart. It tears unevenly and a crisp bounces out and falls on my t-shirt. I can hear Baz huff.

“Oh, shut it,” I say, picking the crisp off my chest and eating it. “The new seals are a right bastard to open.”

He huffs again as I crunch another one. “You are an absolute menace, I’ll have you know.”

“You want a crisp don’t you, Baz?” I tilt my head up and grin at him, offering the bag.

Baz shakes his head but he’s still staring at the bag. I’ve never seen him turn down a salt and vinegar crisp. He practically lived on them at school.

The fastidious wanker doesn’t want to get his hands greasy while he’s reading.

Fine, then. There’s a solution for that. I’ve no objection to feeding him crisps.

In bed.

It’s actually kind of hot, when I think about it.

I reach into the bag and pull one out, waving it right in front of his mouth. “Have one?”

His eyes dart from me to the crisp and back. He leans forward and eats it from my hand.

This is damn well hot.

He goes back to reading and I go back to eating. It’s a big bag of crisps though, so a few moments later I entice him with another one.

And eat a few more myself.

I do it again. Baz’s lips brush against my skin this time, lingering, and send a thrum that courses from that point of contact all the way up my arm.

I give him another. His mouth gently closes over the crisp and then his tongue circles my finger, pulling it into his mouth for just an instant.

Fuck. I didn’t mean to make that sound.

Baz goes back to his reading but I can see the smirk, even if he is chewing. He can be a right tease sometimes.

I don’t really mind.

I take the opportunity to feed him another crisp when he flips a page. It’s a larger one and he tries to get the whole thing in his mouth in one go; when his lips come in contact with my fingers this time, my grip on the crisp tightens in response.

It breaks, scattering crumbs all over Baz’s chest.

His actual chest. He’s wearing his pyjama top–because he always gets cold, even when he’s tucked in my arms–but it’s practically unbuttoned to his navel.

Because Baz knows I like it that way.

Except now he’s scowling at me because he’s got crisp crumbs littering his chest and caught in the scattering of hair between his pecs (they’re very fine pecs.)

“Uh, sorry.” I know I shouldn’t, but I really want to laugh. He’s the picture of sultry seduction–hair falling in soft waves around his face, pyjama top alluringly revealing the chiseled expanse of his pale skin, turbulent grey eyes smoldering.

Except for the golden bits of Walkers catching the light.

I do laugh. I can’t help it.

Baz’s eyebrows lower and he reaches towards the nightstand to grab his wand, but I grasp his wrist. “Don’t.”

“For Crowley’s sake, Simon, let me clear the crumbs away. They’ll get scattered in the sheets if I don’t.”

I tighten my grip on his wrist. “Let me do it.”

His eyes widen.

I know what he’s thinking. My magic has started to come back, to an extent, but it’s not anything like it used to be. Which is good in a lot of ways and frustrating in a host of others. It’s there, but I can’t just do things by thinking about them anymore. It’s mostly there when I need it, which is a vast improvement, but I don’t have a lot of reserve. I can cast a spell or two and then it takes a while to charge back up.

Spelling my wings away for the night has pretty much tapped me out. (I keep the tail.) (Baz is inordinately fond of my tail.) ( _Not like that._ )

I’m not going to use my magic to spell the crumbs away. I’ve got a much better idea. At least it seems like a good idea to me.

I press his wrist down onto the bed and toss the almost empty crisp bag to the floor.

“Simon,” Baz sighs as he shakes his head at me.

“Hush. I’ll toss it in the bin later.” I take the book from his other hand, placing it face down on his nightstand, so he can find his place again. Later. Much later.

Maybe in the morning.

For once he doesn’t gripe about me mishandling a book. Baz huffs once more but it drifts into more of a sigh as I swing my leg over his and settle myself down on his lap. I’ve got his attention now.

I squeeze his wrist. “Stay put.”

His breath catches. There’s no magic in the words but the moment shifts as soon as they leave my lips.

Baz gets that predatory look, the one that used to set me on fire at Watford, searing me from the inside out. I didn’t know what it meant then.

I do now.

His pupils are dilated, a scant rim of silver visible. He’s the genteel version of feral when he looks like this.

I rock my hips against his once, because I can be as much of a tease as he can, and then slide myself slowly back along his thighs, my hands still pressing his wrists against the bedsheets.

I’m hovering over his chest, my breath stirring that enticing thatch of hair there, and suddenly I’m less sure of my planned seduction manoeuvre.

Do I Hoover the crumbs off his chest or lick them off?

I raise my head to meet Baz’s eyes. His head’s tilted down and he’s gazing at me through half-lidded eyes, lips parted. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and it’s suddenly clear what I need to do.

I run my tongue along his cool skin, sliding it up to the sparse tangle of hair on his chest, lapping up the crumbs one by one. Lips lingering, tongue swirling, teeth grazing.

“Are you really trying to seduce me by licking crumbs off my chest, Simon?” It’s said in a low, velvety voice that makes me think I’m on the right track.

I lift my head. ”Yes? Is it working?”

Baz almost melts into the bedsheets, his body going languid, head tilting back. “Oh, it’s most definitely working.”

_Good._

I try to raise an eyebrow at him, in a vain attempt to look as seductively cool as he does. “I need to make sure I do a thorough job,” I say, before licking a stripe between his pecs. “Wouldn’t do to leave any bits, now would it?”

“Wouldn’t do at all,” Baz agrees, far too eagerly.

I give him what I hope is a cheeky smirk.

I know it’s not. I know I’m grinning at him like the besotted berk that I am.

And I don’t care who knows it. I want him to know how bloody mad I am for him.

How much I love him.

I think he knows. I think he’s finally let himself believe it.

I’ll keep telling him all the same. With my words.

And in other ways.

I exhale against him, warming his skin with my breath, my eyes never leaving his.

His breath catches and a tremor runs through him, his skin pebbling with goosebumps along the path my mouth travels.

It’s smooth and then rough as I trace my tongue through the strands of silky hair that fan across his sternum. Salty and something else--that indefinable sultry taste of Baz Pitch’s skin, now so familiar to me. I breathe him in–cedar, bergamot, an underlying musky scent that only I know.

He bucks his hips into my chest as my tongue circles his nipple, and he’s as hard as I am.

Which makes my wings flare. They, like other parts of me, tend to pop up when I get excited. Aroused, more like it.

Even when they’ve been spelled.

I lift my head and release Baz’s hands. “Sorry. Spell them away again for me, would you?”

Baz shakes his head, reaching his hand up to trace one finger along the edge of my wing. I’m the one trembling now. “Let them stay,” he whispers.

“You sure?”

“I love them, Simon.” He’s still caressing my wing, fingertips ghosting along the webbing. “I love you.”

And then he’s grabbing the fabric of my t-shirt and pulling me to him. I hold myself on all fours above him.

And he reaches for my mouth. Like he does every time. Like the air we share between us is giving him life, breath by breath.

Mouth to mouth. Heart to heart.

Baz brought me back when I didn’t even know how lost I really was.

I brought him back when I didn’t even realize he was my entire world.

I know it now.

I kiss him as if it’s the first time. I kiss him as if there will never be a last. I kiss him as if I’ve managed to stop time.

I don’t need magic to do that.

I just need _him_.

I’m breathless when I pull away, resting my forehead on his and closing my eyes as my heart pounds wildly in my chest.

I place my hand on his skin, feel the slow, steady thrum of him beneath my palm. The life I know courses in him still. The heart that pulses in time with mine, even if it’s only with every other beat.

There’s a bit of crisp still snarled there. I can’t help but grin as I drop my head to lick it away. And let my mouth linger on his skin again and again.

Baz sinks his hands into my hair, slender fingers snagging in my curls. I lick, I suck, I trace patterns with my tongue. Follow a path down the muscular planes of his abdomen, dipping into the hollow of his navel, nosing at the trail of hair that disappears into his pyjama bottoms.

I press my mouth against the fabric, ghosting the warm air against the shape of his cock, feeling him strain beneath my touch. We’ve been here before.

It’s good. It’s so good.

I run my fingers along his waistband. “This all right, then?”

His grip on my hair tightens, releases, then nails rasp against my scalp as Baz whispers, “More than all right.”

**Author's Note:**

> this idea was born during a very heated debate on whether Simon is a fan of salt and vinegar crisps, like Baz is. I was very much in the YES camp, to the point that I might have said something along the lines of "Simon likes salt and vinegar crisps so much he'd lick them off Baz's hairy chest." And my dear friend [krisrix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisRix/pseuds/KrisRix) may have responded with a not very impressed emoji at that scene suggestion. So I took that as a challenge to make that scene as sexy as I possibly could for him. This is the result. 
> 
> for scone-lover and annabellelux and fox–diaz and all the fans of salt and vinegar crisps out there.


End file.
